


Sedatephobia

by Tesvyn



Series: The One-Shot March Challenge [16]
Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fobwatched Doctor (Doctor Who), Harry Potter is The Doctor (Doctor Who), One Shot, Phobias, Post-War, Time Lord Harry Potter, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-26 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tesvyn/pseuds/Tesvyn
Summary: He was running, he didn't know what from.
Series: The One-Shot March Challenge [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187630
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Sedatephobia

Harry didn't like the silence, nor did he like the darkness, or small spaces, and yet he grew up in a cupboard surrounded by all of these things.

Perhaps it was the fact that he grew up in the conditions that caused the deep dislike of them, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

He ignored the way that the silence echoed in his head, even as he slept in a room filled with other boys, ones who constantly filled the air with sound, even while sleeping.

The school felt too small, even with the many unexplored rooms and corridors, maybe it was the fact that it kept him confined to one area for most of the year, he also ignored this.

The shadows that followed him underfoot seemed as though they'd swallow him whole, leaving him unable to escape the secrets that he held close to his heart.

But there were no secrets, no untold truths, he didn't lie to anyone and that included himself.

Except the watch around his neck that he never spoke about contradicted that by its existence.

Sometimes he'd grasp at the edges of a possible memory, but it would be gone, like grasping at dry sand on a windy day leading him to believe it was nothing but a dream.

Sometimes he thought that his life was nothing but a dream, a coping mechanism he'd sought to hide from something, or perhaps someone.

But how could it be? Everything was far too vivid for it to be anything but real.

Harry pretended that the years since he'd come to Hogwarts weren't slowly wearing him down mentally, as though he wasn't on the brink of a meltdown almost constantly.

How could he tell his friends that sometimes he just wanted to say, 'fuck it' and kill them all?

~~_How could they all live and be happy when he'd had to kill his own people?_ ~~

Sometimes he had thoughts that weren't really thoughts, ones that happened but were gone mere seconds after he'd thought them.

That was fine, he didn't think he wanted to know what they were.

He didn't know how exactly he coped with the war, going through the motions in a daze, somehow it felt familiar, as if it had happened before.

Sometimes he wanted to leave and never look back, why did he have to be the one to take responsibility for this? Why were they placing all of their hopes of survival on a seventeen-year-old?

He'd felt simultaneously more alive and more dead while they were travelling around the United Kingdom, the freedom of being able to go anywhere helping to ease his fears, and yet the fact that they were hunting Horcruxes while being hunted themselves made it difficult to think of anything but surviving another day.

He didn't miss the looks of pity that Ron and Hermione would send him whenever they thought he wasn't looking, it was glaringly obvious that the war was really getting to him, and he didn't exactly blame them for looking at him as though he would break at any moment.

They met a man named Jack on their travels, he looked at him like he'd seen a ghost.

He was tired, so very tired, and he felt so old, older than he had any right to feel.

The shadows were crawling up his skin, burning him, eating at him, but it was just a nightmare.

They were captured and tortured, it didn't even phase Harry anymore.

Dobby had been so brave; he didn't deserve to die.

They had a saying that war changed people, but he'd been forged in it, so what did that make him?

They needed to lay low and went into hiding in Sheffield.

Hermione bleached her hair and cut it to her shoulders, picking up a pair of reading glasses from a local bookshop, ones that wouldn't cause issues with her eyes and began wearing them.

Ron dyed his brown, a pair of brown coloured contacts, which while looking odd thanks to his blue eyes under them and the fake-looking patterns, worked as intended.

Harry cut his hair in a military-style, removing any chance of being recognised by his 'Potter' hair, Hermione worked her magic with a bit of concealer on his scar.

A wardrobe change for the three of them meant that they looked like completely different people.

Harry took it a step further and began imitating the local accent, something which Hermione joined in after a few days.

A run-in with an Order member three days later, which they opted to keep secret, revealed that Harry's glasses and eyes were still a big giveaway.

Hermione found a potion to restore his vision, and another to change his eye colour.

It was supposed to be temporary; it was not.

They continued running, away from the Death Eaters.

Away from an unknown past.

There was a stranger in his mirror.

There was a stranger in his mirror, and he said hello.

"You sound like you're from the north," Hermione informed him.

Harry was quite sure he was having an identity crisis.

They bumped into that man, Jack again, the look of seeing a ghost was on his face once more, but this time stronger.

He called him 'Doctor'.

The Horcruxes were found and destroyed and there was only Voldemort and his snake left...

Voldemort, his snake... and Harry.

He walked into the forest; a stone was turned...

No-one appeared.

Harry died and the Horcrux was gone, and then he woke up.

The shadows were crawling along his flesh, the silence deafening, how was the open space so small?

He didn't remember killing Voldemort, but the body at his feet let him know he had.

He was so tired.

He looked around at the people gathered and left, running once more, this time from those who loved him for freeing them.

He couldn't deal with the adoration and worship he'd seen in their eyes.

He ran and he ran, and when he reached London, he opened his watch.

And then he ran once more, this time into the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Sedatephobia is the fear of silence.


End file.
